


Pond Heaven

by madlyimpossible



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Character Death, Dementia, F/M, Too many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madlyimpossible/pseuds/madlyimpossible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amelia Pond has lived out her life peacefully in New York with her husband, Rory. But it's been five years since Rory's death, and Amy is tired. When she finally gives in and goes into her eternal sleep... is there anywhere else she could possibly end up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pond Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a fic in a long time, and I know it's a little rough in some places. This was really just to try and get me into the swing of things again. Please be kind. And I hope you enjoy. :3 
> 
> [Also, this is based loosely on the ending of the film Titanic.]

It wasn’t as easy as everyone said it would be. 

Amy and Rory had built a life after the tragedy of New York. It wasn’t perfect but it was steady and that was exactly what they had needed after everything that had happened to them. Amy had become a publishing mogul and Rory had finally earned the title of doctor at one of the local hospitals. They adopted a son, Anthony, and lived out their lives in comfortable contentment. But then—because nothing that good could possibly last forever—the blow finally came.  
Rory’s sickness had come out of nowhere. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. It was gradual, and to Amy, that was the worst part. Watching helplessly as he husband withered away slowly was a fate worse than death. Dementia. She felt as if the universe had found a way to combine all her worst fears into a disease and force her to watch Rory suffer through it. Slowly, but surely, he started to lose every part of who he was—every memory, every good time, every bad time. All of it was slowly leaving his mind, and she ached for him; for everything that he’d lost and for everything he still had to lose.

Amy hadn’t realised how bad it was until one day she’d mentioned the Doctor casually, as they had for years, and he’d turned to her with a confused look on his face. “Doctor who?” he’d asked, and that was when she knew it had eaten its way into his long term memory. Anthony tried to help her as best as he could, but there was nothing that they could do. The Rory that she had known for almost all of her life was slowly disappearing.  
When he died several months later, at only eighty-two years old, Amy felt relief mixed in with her crippling sadness. She had lost her best friend; the one person in this world who knew her like the back of his hand… but she knew that he wasn’t suffering anymore. He wasn’t hunched over in his chair, head in his hands, crying out in frustration because he couldn’t remember which remote turned on the television. It was hard, and continued to be hard every day, but she knew that he was better off and she tried to remind herself of that when the particularly sad days came around.

Now, it seemed, it was her turn.

Now, Amy wasn’t sick. Dementia hadn’t come for her like it had for Rory, and she remembered everything in vivid detail. It was both a blessing and a curse. But, she could feel her body withering away. It was starting to give up on her. Five years on her own, without Rory to love and take care of like she had for so many years, and now it was slowly starting to shut down.

Anthony was there at her bedside, clutching at her hand with tears glistening in his eyes. She had the family photo album open on her stomach and she was flipping through it idly, making weary comments occasionally about their family vacations or their family Christmases—their life. It wasn’t a perfect life, or an easy one by far, but she’d loved every minute of it. She looked down at her hand, wrinkled with age, and she could feel it coming. Her eyes were getting heavy, almost as if she was extremely tired, and her breathing became a little more laboured. Closing the family album, Amy gave Anthony’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“I love you.” she said simply, looking over at him and locking her greens eyes on his.  
He nodded, looking down at their clasped hands as the tears started to fall down his cheeks silently. He looked up again and smiled just a bit. “You know I love you, too, Ma.”

Amy gave him the faintest of smiles in return. Though he had grown up with an English father and a Scottish mother, Anthony’s voice was unlike anything she’d ever heard. It was almost as if he’d mixed both of their accents together, with a dash of an American accent as well, to create his own way of talking that was entirely unique. She would never get tired of listening to him speak.

Her eyes closed slowly, drinking in Anthony’s face as long as they possibly could. Her breathing slowed down and then stopped completely and she knew that it was all over. For a moment, she felt as if she were flying. And, if she’d realised where she was at first, she would have known that she was, but it was dark and she couldn’t see anything. She glided forward, reaching her hands out into the darkness until she found a door and pushed it open.

The room she walked into was one she would know anywhere. The console room lit up as she entered it. The brilliant orange of the walls standing out more vividly as the lights grew stronger. She walked forward a few steps and she could feel her eyes widening. She was actually back in the TARDIS, just like she’d always dreamed she would be. She walked forward slowly, drinking in the sight of it all.

When she looked down she was dressed the exact same what she had been those many years ago on that very night she stepped into this room for the very first time. She looked down at her hands and they were smooth again without a wrinkle in sight. She walked up to the console and caught her reflection in the Doctor’s mirror. She was young again—no more than twenty-one—and her hair was fiery like it hadn’t been in years.

She let out a shaky laugh, running her fingers through her hair before turning away from the mirror and leaning back on the console. If she really was here, back in the TARDIS and twenty-one again… then where was the Doctor? She walked down the steps, but just as she was about to call out his name, she slipped. Maybe it was out of anticipation that she missed that last step, or maybe it was just clumsiness, but either way she fell but something caught her fall.

And there he was in all his glory—floppy hair, bow tie and all, smirking at her like he always used to and she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her own face in return. The Doctor helped her stand up right before wrapping her into a hug. Her arms found their way around his neck, and his around her waist, and she buried her face in fabric over his shoulder. Overwhelmed with emotion, her tears stained his jacket and she let out another shaky laugh, but this one was louder than the other and she almost didn’t hear him as he whispered in her ear one word.

"Gotcha.”


End file.
